ey gobbler and four timid hens roosting in a low apple
tree, stirred uneasily as the cows passed beneath them to their stable
next to the kitchen--a stable with a long stone manger and walls two
feet thick. Above the stable was a loft covered by a thatched roof; it
was in a corner of this loft, in a large box filled with straw and
provided with a patchwork-quilt, that Yvonne slept.

A light from the kitchen window streamed across the muddy court. The
Pere and Mere Bourron were already at supper. The child bolted the
stable door upon her herd and slipped into her place at table with a
timid "_Bonsoir, m'sieur, madame_," to her masters, which was
acknowledged by a grunt from the Pere Bourron and a spasm of coughing
from his spouse.

The Mere Bourron, who had the dullish round eye of a pig that gleamed
suspiciously when she became inquisitive, had supped well. Now and then
she squinted over her fat jowls veined with purple, plying her mate with
short, savage questions, for he had sold cattle that day at the market
at Bonville. Such evenings as these were always quarrelsome between the
two, and as the little girl did not count any more than the chair she
sat in, they argued openly over the day's sale. The best steer had
brought less than the Mere Bourron had believed, a shrewd possibility,
even after a month's bargaining. When both had wiped their plates clean
with bread--for nothing went to waste there--the child got up and
brought the black coffee and the decanter of applejack. They at last
ceased to argue, since the Mere Bourron had had the final word. Pere
Bourron sat with closed fists, opening one now and then to strengthen
his coffee with applejack. Being a short, thickset man, he generally sat
in his blouse after he had eaten, with his elbows on the table and his
rough bullet-like head, with its crop of unkempt hair, buried in his
hands.

When Yvonne had finished her soup, and eaten all her bread, she rose and
with another timid "_Bonsoir_" slipped away to bed.

"Leave the brindle heifer tied!" shrilled madame as the child reached
the courtyard.

"_Mais, oui madame_, it is done," answered Yvonne, and crept into her
box beneath the thatch.

* * * * *

At sixteen Yvonne was still guarding the cows for the Bourrons. At
seventeen she fell in love.

He was a slick, slim youth named Jean, with a soapy blond lock plastered
under the visor of his leather cap pulled down to his red ear